This is the first chapter of my story ‘Follow the Light’. You can download the full story by clicking on the picture below or it’s also available on Kindle. Thanks for stopping by. I hope you enjoy.
We’re analogue in a digital age; we’re radio in the streaming age.
We are the words written on the page. And we don’t give a fuck if that’s good enough for you.
Follow the light.
Part 1: Life, Death and a Drunk Piano
The rain fell softly as the minister continued his sermon.
I hadn’t spoken to my dad for six months and here I was burying
him.
I looked around at the scene. A good crowd had turned out for
the old man, dressed in traditional black. A few umbrellas going
up.
There was his girlfriend, the boys from the club, and some
of the neighbours.
The minister seemed to be finishing up and stood back as we
were called from the crowd.
Me.
My brother.
My cousin.
Wull from the shop.
Pete.
We each held a rope under the coffin. The man pulled away the
planks of wood. Someone was sobbing from the crowd.
We lowered him down,
into the grave,
Into the earth.
Back at the bowling club after, we bought drinks.
Shook hands.
Everyone said he was a good man.
I wished I believed them.
People were lovely.
And then they were gone.
I sat at the bar, just sipping on a drink. They told me they had to
clear up. The darts club started at seven.
In the hotel bar, there was a band playing. Well, more like a guy
playing piano and singing old songs.
The woman behind the bar kept chatting away.
About everything.
Nothing.
She was putting her money away, moving somewhere, anywhere.
She said she knew my wife. I told her we were separated. They
had gone to school together.
They had never got along.
She poured a drink.
One for me and one for her.
Cheers.
I told her about my books.
Listened to the piano player.
I looked up.
But she wasn’t there.
A guy came over.
Explained her shift was finished; she was away home to her
husband and their kids. The guy poured a drink but he didn’t
want to talk. He was all thumbs on the phone.
I listened to the piano player as he murdered ‘The Piano has
been Drinking.’
I finished my drink and took two indigestion tablets.
Walking outside, I could hear the sea.
The cold breeze cutting across the car park. I walked down the
gravel path, heard it scrunching under my feet. It was harder to
walk in the sand.
I reached into my pocket and pulled out the sheets of paper.
Stories I wrote, a letter to my father. I dug a little hollow in the
sand, between the dunes and the sea.
I could hear the surf.
I took the lighter to the paper.
I watched the flames.
Burn.
Burn everything.
Start over.
The sea and the sand beneath me. The clouds above.
I walked home.
The place was cold.
I fell into bed.
(c) Paul Andrew Sneddon
Paul Andrew Sneddon 